


Talk Shit, Get Hit

by akaparalian



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 03:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20668490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: “Pretty hard to concuss a vampire?” Simon asks.“Pretty hard to concuss a vampire,” Jace agrees.





	Talk Shit, Get Hit

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [sh_ficletinstruments](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/sh_ficletinstruments) collection. 

“I regret nothing,” Simon wheezes, just moments before he collapses ungracefully onto the nearest flat surface, which happens to be the ground.

“Yeah?” Jace says with a snort, not bothering to help him up. “You sure about that one, Rocky?”

“Hey, whoa, points for the reference,” Simon says, squinting up at him with a dazed smile. “I knew I was rubbing off on you.”

“Against my better judgement,” Jace mutters. “In a number of ways.”

There’s a beat of silence, in which Jace stares off into the middle distance and contemplates his life choices and Simon mostly seems to be trying to process the fact that he’s still on the ground. A couple coming toward them from half a block away look at Simon on the ground, then up at Jace, and immediately move to cross the street.

“Haha, rubbing off on you,” Simon says suddenly, late to his own joke. This, more than anything, finally pings enough concern in Jace’s chest to overcome his vague annoyance. He kneels at Simon’s side; Simon grins at him. “Get it, Jace? Rubbing off—”

“I get it,” Jace interrupts. “Raziel, Simon. How hard did he _hit_ you?”

“Pretty hard,” Simon says amiably. “But don’t worry, I don’t think it’s a concussion. I know what concussions feel like. See, when I was, like, 9—”

“No, I don’t think you have a concussion,” Jace interrupts again, even though he’s morbidly curious-slash-horrified at the idea of little 9-year-old squishy-mundane Simon with a concussion. Someone probably hit him with a wet noodle or something. 

“Pretty hard to concuss a vampire?” Simon asks.

“Pretty hard to concuss a vampire,” Jace agrees. “Just — you’re probably stunned, is all.” He pauses a moment, then asks, “Why the hell did you try to fight him, Simon?”

“Excuse you,” Simon says, rousing himself to a half-sitting position by sheer force of indignation. “I didn’t _try_ to fight him. I _succeeded_. Just because I lost the fight doesn’t mean I wasn’t fighting.”

“Okay,” Jace says through gritted teeth. “Then why the hell did you _succeed_ in fighting him?”

At this, Simon goes silent again; Jace watches the way his breathing slowly starts to return to normal, the way his face clears, the way his shiner is already starting to darken, but says nothing.

“Look,” Simon says eventually, “I’m not going to repeat what he said about you. But it wasn’t very nice. And not that I don’t know you can fight your own battles, _obviously_, but…” He shrugs.

Somehow, despite everything, that’s not what Jace had been expecting. He isn’t sure what he _had_ been expecting, but… the idea of Simon throwing a punch because some guy talked shit about Clary, or Izzy, or Maia, okay. But _him?_

“Get up,” he says, after a long moment of contemplation. His voice is softer than he’d like to admit. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“No regrets,” Simon says in an almost sing-song voice, and grins wide and bright when Jace heaves him off the ground.


End file.
